


Corner of Hell

by twitchtipthegnawer



Series: Overwatch Oneshots [17]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Amputation, Brazil is a weird place even without Vishkar, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: Smiling isn’t always a matter of joy. Sometimes it’s a matter of necessity. Sometimes it’s a matter of teeth-gritted determination, of the alternative being despair, of knowing that if your smile drops you’re dooming every person you love to that much more pain.Lúcio has lots of practice faking a smile, for lots of reasons.





	

Corpses stank. That was probably common knowledge - anyone with half a brain knew that a dead body would smell like rotten meat. But they stank like shit and piss, too, and sickly-sweet putrefaction. If there was anything Lúcio truly hated in the world, it was the smell of corpses.

He swung up the side of the favela, leaping from corrugated metal to cardboard and back. His hands were calloused hard enough that his mom used to make jokes about how he could barely bend his fingers well enough to play guitar.

It had turned out she was right, but guitar wasn’t the only instrument in the world. And Lúcio had his voice before he’d ever even looked at instruments.

“Hey,” he said, perching on the edge of a makeshift windowsill. “Long time no see.”

Silence fell in the room. Five pairs of eyes locked on him, unwavering. Lúcio only managed to keep smiling through sheer willpower.

Just like always, it was his little brother who broke the tension. “You came back!” He cried, ten-year-old body fairly flinging into Lúcio’s arms.

The unspoken _ “We weren’t sure if you would”  _ just about broke Lúcio’s heart. But it also strengthened his resolve. He was going to create a world where those words didn’t have to go through a child’s head,  _ ever. _

“I’ll always come back,” he said. “Always.” He buried his fingers in his brother’s hair, pressed his nose to the top of his head and took a deep breath. Dust and iron and little-kid sweat. Home.

An angry, tightly controlled voice said, “Lúcio.” He looked up reluctantly, knowing what he would see.

Gabriela glared at him over the heads of two younger children. Lúcio sighed, resigning himself to another lecture on how he shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

Instead, however, she just fixed him with that unflinching gaze. Lúcio gave as good as he got, protectively wrapping his arms around little Paulo. He logically knew Gabriela could keep his brother safe - she’d done a perfectly fine job so far - but he couldn’t help worrying. Gabriela had three siblings of her own to look after. If anyone got left behind, it would be Paulo.

_ That’s why I need to do this, _ Lúcio reminded himself. His determination was like a block of solid steel; it wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Which made it all the more annoying when Gabriela tried to convince him to give up his “fool’s errand.”

So they were at an impasse. Neither would back down. They might have stared at one another forever if a weak cough hadn’t sounded from the mattress.

“Cut it out,” protested Matheus. Gabriela was at his side in an instant, hands fluttering nervously.

“Careful,” she said nervously. “You just had another relapse -”

Rolling his eyes, Matheus said, “Shut up.” Before Lúcio could feel too smug about it Matheus was continuing, “Lúcio, you’d better have a good explanation for why you’re risking leading Vishkar to us.”

Reluctantly, Paulo pulled away to give him a worried look. Lúcio sighed heavily. “Yeah, I do. I’m about to do something a teensy bit stupid.”

Paulo giggled at his wording, but Gabriela and Matheus exchanged a  _ look _ . “What time is this stupid thing going to happen, then?” Matheus asked.

“Closer to next week than tomorrow,” Lúcio answered. “And not far from home.”

It was a convoluted way to explain things, but Gabriela insisted they speak in code. In this case, “home” didn’t refer to their little corner of the favela, but it would insure that anyone listening in had their eyes trained on exactly the wrong spot. Lúcio personally thought it was overkill, but he wasn’t going to argue with her on it when they already disagreed so often.

“Got it,” she said. “We’ll be ready.”

Lúcio could practically see the gears turning in her head, figuring out who she’d need to warn and how to contact them covertly. On this, at least, Lúcio trusted her implicitly.

“You two scare me sometimes,” Matheus groused.

Consciously turning down the wattage on his smile (Matheus always said it looked manic when he smiled too wide), Lúcio looked down to see Paulo watching him. His face was youthful as ever, but his eyes were entirely too old.

“Don’t do anything  _ too _ stupid,” he said seriously. And then something inside him brightened, and he continued, “Wait a second.”

“I’ve got all night,” Lúcio soothed. He couldn’t help how soft his face went as Paulo scurried off; his weak spot had always been family, after all.

While the four of them waited for Paulo to return, Gabriela’s younger siblings hid behind her. Most kids loved Lúcio, trusted him implicitly. The twins were just about the only exception he’d found, but he couldn’t begrudge them that. He still blamed himself for their father getting caught by Vishkar.

Sadness hovered on the edge of his mind, but he pushed it away ruthlessly. He didn’t have  _ time  _ to be sad.

Paulo was already returning, his little hands clutching something tightly. As he held it up to Lúcio, proud as could be, he felt something in his heart break.

A woven, bright green bracelet rested in his palm. It was far too large for him - obviously, he’d known exactly who he wanted to have it when he made it. Lúcio blinked hard, his eyes burning a bit.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He could feel Gabriela and Matheus watching them, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment except his little brother, and the proof that the world wasn’t as awful as Lúcio sometimes worried it was becoming. “I’ll wear it all the time, I promise. And I won’t tug on it and risk breaking it.”

Just like Lúcio knew he would, Paulo wrinkled his nose at the reminder. He’d broken a necklace Lúcio had given him just last month. He still fixed the bracelet onto Lúcio’s wrist without bringing that up, though.

“Every time you see it, you’ll remember me,” Paulo whispered. “And you’ll smile because you’re happy.”

Lúcio didn’t miss the distinction, and hugged Paulo all the more fiercely for it. As much as he and Gabriela had tried to keep him sheltered, it didn’t work as well as he’d sometimes wished.

As badly as he wanted to stay and talk to them longer, Lúcio could feel the passing time like a physical force on him. He lingered for only a few minutes longer, Matheus and Paulo collectively updating him on the goings on in his former home. He laughed at their neighbor’s shallow arguments, listened attentively to what Paulo had been learning in school.

Stubbornly, he didn’t let himself long for the day when it would be his home again. All he knew was that day  _ would _ come. If all went well on his next mission, it would come soon.

But Lúcio wasn’t naive, and he knew very well that things wouldn’t go well if he sat around with his ramshackle family in their ramshackle house for too long. So, when it still felt like he’d only just arrived, he was kissing Paulo’s forehead and fistbumping Matheus and nodding to Gabriela in silent understanding.

Then he was jumping back out the window, following familiar paths down to the cracked street below. He missed the sweat-dust-iron smell immediately.

Corpses. If he hadn’t known that they’d once been people, with hopes and dreams and lives, he’d have hated them.

\----------

The trucks made a low whirring sound as they drove down the road. About an hour ago they’d left behind residential areas; still, he didn’t want to risk pedestrians if he didn’t have to.

Curfew was approaching. Lúcio doubted that the truck drivers had noticed yet that the roads were far more empty than they should’ve been. From street level, it looked like there was only the occasional passer-by hurrying along with their head down. From the rooftop where Lúcio perched, however…

Placing his left hand on his right wrist, he took a deep breath. Isabelle crouched across the street from him, a barely-visible smudge of darkness against the sunset. Lara was behind them both, prepared to cut off the trucks’ escape at the signal.

All three of them were ready. As ready as they could be, all things considered.

And even if the worst case scenario were to come to pass, well, they had backup. Their bodies had a high chance of making it back to their families.

At that moment, the first truck pulled just under Lúcio and slowed, preparing to turn onto a side street. He whistled, a sharp, clear note, and -

His heart in his throat, Lúcio leapt.

Landing hard on the top of the truck, he grabbed the hatch on the top with both hands. He wrenched at the latch holding it shut - which did jack shit.

Quick, economic movements had the microfilament blade out of his sleeve and in his hand in seconds. He sliced through the lock, careful not to get the weapon close to his fingers (it was so sharp it’d cut his hand in half before he felt a thing). Then he was falling through onto a crate, microfilament going limp in his hand as he shut it off.

He ignored most of the crates, going for one of the clear, plastic ones instantly. Sonic amplifiers. An innocuous name for what they actually did.

They only needed to get one of the weapons for the plan to be considered a success. Don’t get greedy; they’d all learned that lesson the hard way early on. They were just too far outmatched, in personnel and training and equipment. If they could only get  _ one _ , they might be able to remedy that problem sooner rather than later.

The lid came off the plastic container easily enough. Lúcio was left staring down at neatly packed rows of the things, all metal and LEDs. He grabbed one in each hand and inspected the sides, trying to find a way to turn it on.

_ There _ . He flipped the switch, and sent a pulse of sound too low to hear at the back of the truck.

With a screech of stressed metal, every crate between Lúcio and the exit blasted out of his path. The rear of the truck was left with a gaping hole, more than large enough for Lúcio to escape through.

Right on time, Lúcio crouched and grabbed at the wall. His hand caught a ridge, and he held on for dear life as the truck driver slammed the brakes. Now came the dangerous part.

As soon as the truck had slowed enough, Lúcio let go and allowed himself to slide out the hole he’d created. He landed with both feet under him, hands up and prepared to fire more of those destructive soundwaves if need be.

Unfortunately, he never had the chance.

Isabelle had just enough time to cry out in that high, clear voice of hers,  _ “Run!” _

And then the Vishkar guards, which Lúcio simply hadn’t had  _ time  _ to notice yet, started firing.

Light and sound filled the air in a chaotic mess as all hell broke loose. He followed Isabelle’s last order, running as fast as he could to the side. He hoped to dodge most of the enemies’ attacks, but he also knew that he was presenting a rather obvious target.

_ At least I managed to destroy a shit-ton of their shipment,  _ he thought.

Something swept his legs out from under him, and he hit the ground hard. Tingling seemed to be spreading up his spine, and his vision went dark at the edges.

_ Fuck. _ He grimaced, forced his arm up to fire back at the bastard who’d hit him, and then passed out.

\----------

“Welcome back daredevil.”

Blinking hard, Lúcio brought the metal ceiling into focus slowly. “Did we win?” He asked, voice rough and throat sore.

“Sure did.” Isabelle’s blue hair obscured his vision for a moment, and then she was holding out a straw for him.

Slowly, he sipped the water she was feeding him. He didn’t dare try to hold the glass himself; he didn’t know how badly he’d been injured yet. When he was done, she set it down and gave him a considering look.

“You’ll like this, you were the only casualty. Lara’s out collecting some stuff for the celebration tonight.”

“Fantastic.” Lúcio smiled, though it made his chapped lips sting.

Isabelle smiled back, but it was pinched tight with anxiety. “We got three working sonic amplifiers. That ambush gave us a chance to test them right away, even. They lost three guards and a shit-ton of cargo too.”

“Cool, cool. Now, what are you not telling me?”

“You didn’t notice?” She swallowed hard, then looked away. Towards -

His legs. Which he still couldn’t feel.

“Oh,  _ fuck  _ no.”

Her hand landed on his shoulder, pushing him down hard and foiling his attempts to sit up. “There’s no risk of infection,” she said hurriedly. “The sonic amplifiers’ healing, it -”

“I know what it does,” Lúcio spat.

Deep breaths. He needed to calm down. “Spinal damage?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“...Amputation,” Isabelle admitted.

Okay, okay, he could do this. He was alive, wasn’t he? And it didn’t hurt, and he still had his arms, and the mission had been a success.

Vishkar was going down whether or not Lúcio had his legs. A couple of limbs didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

But he couldn’t help himself from feeling a moment of panic, knowing that he might not be able to fight on the front lines the way he’d wanted to. He loved every member of the resistance. He’d rather risk himself than them any day. And now that option may have been taken away from him forever.

So softly that Lúcio almost didn’t hear her, Isabelle said, “Could you still sing tonight? It would mean a lot.”

Sitting up suddenly, Lúcio gasped through the sudden pulse of pain that went through him. Isabelle made an alarmed noise, but he wasn’t paying any attention. That was it!

“Of course I’ll sing,” he said. “In fact, I think I’ll be doing a lot of singing soon.”

“What? No, nevermind, lie back down, you shouldn’t be putting pressure on your wounds when they’re still barely closed.”

“Stop being such a worrywart. And listen, I just came up with an idea.”

“Could we save the ideas for a time when I’m sure you aren’t woozy from blood loss and fucked in the head?”

“Or,” said Lara, walking in with a huge bag dragging behind her. “Could we save the ideas for after the party? I finally got the room set up.”

“Yes, I like that plan,” Isabelle agreed.

Lúcio wanted to argue, but curiosity got the better of him when Lara stopped at the foot of his makeshift bed. “Fine, as long as you tell me what you’ve got there.”

Lara pinned him with a look, made all the more fierce by the scar blinding her right eye. “I got these from a Vishkar facility, using the weapons you stole. You’re not allowed to turn them down.”

That didn’t bode particularly well. Then she grabbed the bag from the end and dumped out it’s contents, revealing that it must have been even heavier than it looked. Lúcio couldn’t tear his eyes away from the jumble of metal plating on the ground, and his throat seemed to have locked up tight. Immediately, he thought,  _ someone needs those more than me _ . Which, yeah, not an effective argument.

In the end, all he was able to say was, “You guys, I’ve only known I didn’t have legs for like five minutes, and you’re already giving me new ones? You’re the best friends a guy could hope for.”

Cuffing him on the back of the head, Isabelle said, “Cut it out.” She sounded relieved, though.

“It’ll take a while to learn to use them,” Lara cautioned him. “And I’m not gonna let you go out and get yourself killed while you’re still toddling around.”

_ Doesn’t matter how long it takes, _ Lúcio realized.  _ I’m going to walk again. And in the meantime, I can use my music to spread the word, recruit more people, secure our future. _

Today might not be a great day. But it certainly could’ve been worse. When Lara picked him up to carry him into the next room over (ignoring Isabelle’s squawk of protest), Lúcio found that his smile was as genuine as Paulo’d wanted it to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you read? You can see updates and such on my tumblr (same username as AO3)!
> 
> This fic is mostly in existence because a friend of mine asked which was harder: writing a positive character being happy, or writing a positive character being sad. I said that obviously happiness is harder, and he replied that “there’s no way writing sad Lúcio is easy.” He should’ve seen the error of his ways; with a backstory like Lúcio’s, there’s no way he _hasn’t_ spent a good portion of his life sad.


End file.
